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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23674495">Not Lonely</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/acerbicsarcasm/pseuds/acerbicsarcasm'>acerbicsarcasm</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Penumbra Podcast</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>All of this is G except maaaaaaaybe Day 9, Buddy has a Plan that will not be adhered to, Crime family movie night, Fluff, Gen, Jet is a workaholic and doesn't know how to relax, Juno paints Nureyev's nails, Nureyev and Juno's relationship is nebulous and undefined, Nureyev needs a hug and Juno has had enough bad days that he knows how to help, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rita has consumed all the snacks in the first week, Trans Peter Nureyev, but they're definitely on good terms and secretly still in love, the Crime Family is stuck on the Carte Blanche via elaborate plot bs, there's a wee lil' bit of nudity, this is my coping with social isolation fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:00:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,575</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23674495</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/acerbicsarcasm/pseuds/acerbicsarcasm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The moon Lethe is a very, very small satellite. The space within the Carte Blanche is even smaller. The longer the Aurinko Crime Family is stuck there, it begins to feel smaller and smaller.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Buddy Aurinko &amp; Peter Nureyev &amp; Rita &amp; Jet Sikuliaq &amp; Juno Steel &amp; Vespa, Buddy Aurinko/Vespa, Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>84</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Day 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Day 1: The Aurinko Crime Family gets stuck inside.<br/>Day 2: Juno eavesdrops.<br/>Day 5: Jet is running out of things to do.<br/>Day 9: Nureyev doesn't bother getting out of bed.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Vespa slams down a wrench and shouts, “It’s still screwed, Bud!”</p><p class="p1">“There is no need to shout,” Jet says, voice muffled. He is lying on his back, half his body sticking out from beneath the coolant system. There is grease speckling his pants.</p><p class="p1">“Yeah?” snarls Vespa. “Well this stupid — thing — is — screwed!” She punctuates each word by slamming the wrench against the metal, again and again. “And I’m gonna yell about it.”</p><p class="p1">“Do you feel better?” asks Jet, still muffled. He didn’t so much as flinch as Vespa took out her anger on the machine.</p><p class="p1">“Not particularly!”</p><p class="p1">“Now, now, Vespa dear.” Buddy sweeps into the room, still immaculate after the party she had attended with Ransom. A party where they had gone out of their way to steal as many ID cards as physically possible. “Deep breaths darling. Give Jet a moment, will you?”</p><p class="p1">Vespa growls, and takes the wrench with her as she made her way to their room, muttering all the while.</p><p class="p1">“Now, darling,” Buddy said, directing her words at Jet’s legs, “what exactly is going on?”</p><p class="p1">“The coolant system has failed. We have lost too much fluid to safely take off. I am in the process of patching the leak now.”</p><p class="p1">“Alright. And tell me, what about ordering new coolant?”</p><p class="p1">“The supply chains have been interrupted. We would not be able to acquire new coolant for another week, at the very least.”</p><p class="p1">Buddy sighs. “I knew this blasted planet was a terrible idea.”</p><p class="p1">“Hm,” is all Jet has to contribute.</p><p class="p1">“Let me know when it’s patched, darling. I’ll go break the news.”</p><p class="p1">She sweeps through to the rec room. Rita is poring over the IDs they had managed to steal, clicking her tongue at some and making happy little <em>oooh</em> noises at others, pointing out famous names to Juno. He looks up when Buddy enters, and she grins at the relief in his eye.</p><p class="p1">Buddy clears her throat.</p><p class="p1">“OH and this one, lookat this, this is <em>Nathan Sapowski</em>! You got to meet <em>Nathan Sapowski?</em> Didja know he’s one of the biggest producers of streams on Saturn? He produced <em>Pirates of the Caribbean Nebula</em>, all twenty-eight of them!”</p><p class="p1">“Well he hardly bothered to watch his bag,” said Peter Ransom. “I plucked that right out of his clutch while he was laughing.” There’s something insufferably smug about the way he says it, sprawling with one leg tossed over the arm of his chair, fiddling with a scrap of folded paper. He is also dressed for a party, a black corset beneath a wine-red suit that only emphasises how tall and lean he is. He’s swapped his silver piercings for black or red jewels, and the onyx through his tongue flashes as he speaks.</p><p class="p1">Buddy clears her throat. “I have bad news.”</p><p class="p1">Juno straightens up, Ransom doesn’t bother, Rita looks as though Buddy has kicked her cat.</p><p class="p1">“The coolant system is damaged,” Buddy informs them. “It will take us about a week to get new coolant.”</p><p class="p1">“Is that with the storms?” Rita pipes up. They all turn to her, Ransom quirking a questioning eyebrow. “The storms!” She grabs her comms as she babbles. “It’s one a the really cool things about Lethe, you know, because they have all these volcanoes. The tallest one is actually way taller than anything Mars has got, but that one ain’t exploded in <em>years</em>. The little ones are the fun ones you know, kinda like pimples. The big ones suck and they make your face hurt but the little ones you can just pop without too much fuss and it’s <em>reeeeeeeeeeeeal</em> satisfyin’. I used to have a lot a acne, when I was a little Rita, and it was always real fun to pop the little ones until my mom told me I really shouldn’t, and you know she was right, she knows a lot of stuff, not just about pimples and things but also like, life and stuff. Like not to pop your pimples and how to parallel park and to always tip your cam girls and how to slice mango properly. She —”</p><p class="p1">“Rita, darling. Volcanoes?”</p><p class="p1">“Oh, right! So Lethe is a little moon, just a wee itty-bitty moon in the big scheme of things, and its got a bunch of volcanoes all over. The little ones, because they have such shallow magma whatsies — reservoirs? Reservoirs — explode pretty regularly, to relieve the pressure. And y’know they’re pretty easy to track, it happens about once every fifty years or so, like a birthday.</p><p class="p1">“So, <em>anyway</em>, we’re comin’ up on that birthday now, and it should happen this afternoon, which is why all the streams are blarin’ <em>stay at home</em>, <em>stay inside, don’t go out, </em>all that. ‘Cus Lethe volcanoes explode with some pretty toxic gas, that’s also <em>highly</em> flammable, which means ships can’t really take off and stuff and going outside is a big no no unless you want to inhale it and burn your lungs to a crisp and shrivel up and die until you’re nothing more than a corpse just hanging out on the roads waiting for the toxic storms to clear so someone can come collect your body at the end of the month.”</p><p class="p1">“Wait a second,” Juno interrupts, holding up a hand, “a <em>month</em>? We can’t go outside for a <em>month?”</em></p><p class="p1">“I mean most people on Lethe just use this month to do all their work and schooling and stuff over the comms,” Rita says, now scrolling through a projected list of headlines so they can all see what she meant by ‘stay at home, stay inside, don’t go out, all that’. The pictures from the previous volcano storms are grainy and exactly as terrifying as Rita’s description makes them sound. “And they’ll be all stocked up on food and stuff. That’s why the supply chains are wonky.”</p><p class="p1">Buddy sighs. “Rita, is there any way to get the coolant before the storms hit?”</p><p class="p1">“I can have a look, but findin’ black market stuff ain’t always easy — found it! No, that’ll take three days. Oh, here’s another one! That’ll take two days. None a these are gonna get here before the storms hit, captain.”</p><p class="p1">“When’s that?” Juno asks. “How long have we got?”</p><p class="p1">“Probably three hours or so,” Rita says, tapping away at her comms. “Ages.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“We don’t have any time, Juno,” Ransom hisses, shoving Juno away from the dehydrated food. Their cart is full of as many non-perishables as they could get their hands on, mostly old-fashioned ‘space food’. The grains and the cans had been thoroughly picked over before they got there.</p><p class="p1">“Hey, if you think I’m eating that space <em>junk</em> for a month —”</p><p class="p1">“I think you will be, because it’s all we have!”</p><p class="p1">“Look, I reckon I could sneak out back and find out where they’re keeping the rest of the pasta. In and out, five minutes, tops.”</p><p class="p1">“Lesson one of thieving, Juno: don’t steal if you don’t need to, it just increases the risks of complications!” Ransom keeps a tight grip on Juno’s shoulder, dragging the surly detective with him through the shop, and out to the check-out.</p><p class="p1">They make it to the <em>Carte Blanche</em> before the sirens begin; the sound of them permeates the city like tinnitus, ringing incessantly.</p><p class="p1">Ransom slams down two bags of dehydrated space food. “There we are. We have another week of rations on board, and this should keep us for a month.”</p><p class="p1">Vespa, who’s emerged from her room and (mostly) from her bad temper, makes a face as she picks up a plastic-wrapped bag declaring <em>‘Thai Curry Bloc — Dehydrated with Extra Spice! Full Creamy Flavour!’</em> between two disdainful fingers. She doesn’t say anything as she pushes it as far away from her as possible.</p><p class="p1">“I shall add these to our stores,” Jet says, and scoops up both of Ransom’s bags and all three of Juno’s in his arms in one smooth motion.</p><p class="p1">Juno collapses into a chair. “Well. This is gonna be fun.”</p><p class="p1">“No need to worry, boss,” Rita says, punching him playfully in the shoulder. “I’ve got <em>thousands</em> a hours a streams! We can watch all twenty-eight <em>Pirates of the Caribbean Nebula!”</em></p><p class="p1">Juno tosses a tired grin in Ransom’s direction, but it fades after Ransom refuses to reciprocate. Rita is still listing all 28 streams, in order.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Day 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">The knock on Juno’s door makes him groan.</p><p class="p1">“Come in?” <em>If you really gotta.</em></p><p class="p1">“Juno, darling, it’s late. Are you getting up or not?” Buddy’s curly hair is silhouetted in the light from the hallway. Juno blinks his eye rapidly, trying to clear spots from his vision, and squints at his comms.</p><p class="p1">“Buddy? It’s … it’s seven.”</p><p class="p1">“Quite. And your point? Breakfast is getting cold, Juno.” She sweeps down the hall magnanimously.</p><p class="p1">Juno rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. He realises he hasn’t put on his patch and he can feel cold air from the hallway across the ruined mass of scar-tissue over his eyelid. He reaches out with a fumbling hand and snatches up the black fabric, slipping it into place.</p><p class="p1">The trek to the bathroom is like climbing a god-damn mountain. There’s already droplets on the walls of the shower, indicating someone has already been in and out. He takes a deep breath.</p><p class="p1">Roses.</p><p class="p1">It’s another quarter of an hour before Juno emerges. He brushes his teeth, takes two little pills, and stumbles his way towards the little kitchenette.</p><p class="p1">“Where’s the Big Guy?” he asks, sliding in to sit next to Rita. She’s showing Nureyev how to hack into Lethian government weather broadcasts through a mouthful of eggs. Vespa responds instead, answering with a jerk of her head to the tiny gym aboard.</p><p class="p1">“So good of you to join us, Juno,” Buddy says, pulling out a seat beside Vespa and kissing her partner on the cheek. “Good morning, everyone. Since we’ll have the next month aboard, I’ve put together some projects for us all to work on.”</p><p class="p1">The lists are as long as Juno’s arm, and he sighs inwardly, before draining his coffee and setting off to find a vac. He finds it in the very back of a narrow storage closet, along with what looks to be plant fertilizer and a broken hover-ladder.</p><p class="p1">The hum of the vac is soothing, somehow. Buddy and Vespa pass him, heading in the direction of the cockpit, and Juno can’t help himself for following their clasped hands with his gaze. The vac beeps at him, a reminder to keep moving, and he does, focusing on the repetition of back, forth, back, forth.</p><p class="p1">Nureyev’s voice drifts to him from the kitchenette. “I might take this opportunity to work on some new documents. I’ve been intending to update all my passports.”</p><p class="p1">“You really should, Mistah Ransom, specially that Neptunian one. You know they flagged that one in their system, right? Your holo is <em>way</em> outta date, and you need to update your place of residence, since Proteus seceded from the Republic last year.”</p><p class="p1">“Did Buddy have you check all my aliases?” Nureyev sounds amused, and Juno can practically see that grin, narrow lips tilted up on one side and eyes smiling.</p><p class="p1">“Nah, Mistah Steel asked me to check the Neptunian passport registry ‘cus we weren’t sure if Susanna de Bolbec had left Neptune on her own account of if she’d been kidnapped, you know, since she didn’t really leave us many clues to go on. Which is fair, seeing how she was runnin’ away from her ex-girlfriend at the time. Only I couldn’t find any records of Missus de Bolbec actually getting travel documents, so we thought she’d been kidnapped, until Mistah Steel figured out that Missus de Bolbec was actually working with Dark Matters and had just taken the opportunity to leave her lover behind. Overdramatic, if you ask me. What’s wrong with a little ‘hey, sorry honey, gotta go, it’s not me it’s you’ before you take off, huh?”</p><p class="p1">“I’ve been told fear has something to do with it.”</p><p class="p1">The vac beeps again, and Juno shakes himself, knocking on the kitchenette door so it slides open. “Cleaning service.”</p><p class="p1">“Hey boss! I was just tellin’ Mistah Ransom about that case with Susanna de Bolbec and how she used her status as a <em>secret agent</em> to run away from her controlling lover, escaping into the depths of the galaxy, never to be seen again! Except for when we did see her, at that Dark Matters conference we crashed.”</p><p class="p1">“Rita, that was two years ago.”</p><p class="p1">Nureyev swings his legs around, throwing them over the arm of his chair. Juno’s cheeks burn, but he keeps his eye down on the vacuum and works around Rita and Nureyev’s chairs as best he can.</p><p class="p1">“Two years ago? And you still remember my passport?” A tiny furrow forms between Nureyev’s eyebrows. Juno has noticed these new tiny creases, along his eyes, skirting the sides of his mouth. He’s overwhelmed with the urge to run a finger over them, kiss them. Particularly the lines beginning to show along Nureyev’s forehead.</p><p class="p1">“Well, it wasn’t in the normal system. After all your holo was way outta date. I was lookin’ through the flagged profiles. And your passport number matched that phone number you had on Mars, the one that didn’t belong to anyone? Except it did belong to you, only <em>I</em> thought you were the man who didn’t exist. The last nine digits matched.”</p><p class="p1">Juno can see Nureyev hesitate. Is it misgiving? Some kind of regret that he slipped up ever so slightly?</p><p class="p1">“That’s some top-notch detective work, Rita,” Juno says instead, before Nureyev can.</p><p class="p1">“Thanks boss. Y’know, I always thought <em>Rita &amp; Steel Investigations</em> had a ring to it.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Pls note; the 'two pills' Juno takes are antidepressants, not any kind of recreational drugs! I didn't make that super clear and I'm sorry. I have a headcanon that Vespa prescribed him an antidepressant, since this story is set at an ambiguous time, and because there's nothing wrong, shameful, or unusual about using medication to treat an illness &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Day 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Buddy runs out of jobs to give them by the end of the week. Jet has no issues with that; he shall make his own. And if he cannot find any, he will find some other practical, if not entirely necessary, diversion to occupy himself with.</p><p class="p1">The ship is quiet early in the mornings. He begins the morning with a decaffeinated tea, and yoga. As much as he appreciates Buddy’s attempts to hold the crew to a tight daily schedule, he appreciates these peaceful moments more. And, he reasons, the others need sleep. There’s no use fighting a natural circadian rhythm, particularly on a tidally locked moon, where such distinctions as ‘day’ and ‘night’ are nominal.</p><p class="p1">He makes himself a second cup of decaffeinated tea, two sugars, after his morning routine, and begins a ship inspection. The cockpit is neat and tidy, the engine room well-dusted, new parts on order. The coolant system is holding steady perfectly well for life support, though still useless for space travel. The gym equipment was been wiped down and the weights appropriately secured. The kitchenette is cleaned, and still well stocked. Vespa had seen to that — she had appointed herself as ferocious guardian of foodstuffs, ensuring everyone took what they needed and not much more.</p><p class="p1">Jet takes a seat and begins work on an infiltration plan for their next mission, a simple one that requires little more than speed and stealth. He plays some music as he does so, making notes on his comms.</p><p class="p1">It doesn’t take long for hime to finish that. He’s planned the next four heists, to the minute. He’s also begun teaching himself the basics of Telechite grammar, and refining his yoga routine. He has a plan for the next two weeks’ worth of meals, as well as a list of new recipes to try.</p><p class="p1">None of this changes the fact that he is immensely, deeply, irksomely, <em>restless</em>.</p><p class="p1">He heads back to the gym again, a towel slung idly over his shoulder. He places his hands on the treadmill and begins running, warming up for the recommended 10 minute period, before engaging a light jog. The small chart on the corner of the treadmill screen shows his heart rate steadily rising to the recommended zone.</p><p class="p1">The door behind him slams open and Jet jumps, catching himself barely on the treadmill’s handles, before his feet are flung out from beneath him and he crumples to the floor.</p><p class="p1">“Wow Mistah Jet, you’re movin’ pretty fast. How long have you been up for?”</p><p class="p1">Jet looks up, and sees an upside-down cascade of curly red hair. “Rita. Good morning. I’ve been up for almost six hours now.”</p><p class="p1">“Cool. Neat. Listen, we’re gonna watch a stream, <em>Christie Muse on the Wrong Side of the Law</em>, and YOU’RE invited!”</p><p class="p1">He takes a moment to process this. “I need to take a shower first.”</p><p class="p1">“No problem! I’m gonna make popcorn, and this recipe takes exactly seven minutes, so you gotta be faster than that, but it might be longer if I break the microwave again.”</p><p class="p1">“Showers longer than five minutes are ill-advised, they consume far too much water.” But Jet knows it’s fruitless, because Rita has already disappeared and the only sound is the hum of the still-running treadmill.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Jet enters the rec room six minutes later to the smell ofsomething on fire. The scene before him is nothing short of bewildering; Ransom using his hands to deflect water from the tap into a smoking, charred bowl, Juno flapping a tea towel at a wreckage of metal and wires where the microwave had once sat, Vespa holding the microwave’s plug in one hand, and Rita apologising profusely to Buddy, who is delicately applying a burn cream to her fingertips. They appear to have the situation perfectly under control. That said, however, Jet takes a moment to acknowledge the feeling of disappointment that arises at the sight of the ruined microwave; the efficiency of such an appliance simply cannot be matched by a thermal oven. He turns to the small panel that controls the rec room’s screen, and begins the search for Rita’s aforementioned stream.</p><p class="p1">It takes Jet as long to find <em>Christie Muse and the Wrong Side of the Law</em> as it does for Juno to finally put out the smoke rising from the microwave’s charred corpse. “Goddamnit,” he mutters, over and over again in a quite repetitive manner. Buddy takes a seat next to Jet and drapes herself over the chair in the most dramatic manner possible.</p><p class="p1">“Are you alright?” he asks, but Buddy waves him away.</p><p class="p1">“An honest misunderstanding, darling, nothing to worry about. I’ve had far worse.” He can see the whizz of her mechanical eye behind her curtain of hair. “I’ll be right as rain by the end of this stream, don’t you worry.”</p><p class="p1">Rita <em>huffs </em>and takes the next seat along. “I swear, I followed all the instructions on the bag! And now we ain’t got any snacks!”</p><p class="p1">“There’s those cheese-twist abominations,” says Vespa, not bothering to take another chair but collapsing straight onto Buddy’s lap, despite her giggles. “Pretty sure you picked some of those up, right Ransom?”</p><p class="p1">“I did,” says Ransom, pulling up another seat, “but when I went looking for them last night they were mysteriously absent.”</p><p class="p1">“That’s because Rita ate them,” says Juno, sitting next to Ransom, and Jet finally presses <em>play</em> now that everyone is seated, “just like all the rest of our snacks.”</p><p class="p1">“Well I’m <em>sorry</em> boss, but I gotta watch my figure, it takes a lot of snacks to maintain! And you know I work best when I been snackin’, and it’s not like you and Mistah Ransom got nearly enough for a whole <em>month</em> —”</p><p class="p1">“I’m trying to watch the stream, will you shut it?” Vespa snarls, and the opening montage starts.</p><p class="p1">Jet realises this is the first time today he has sat down without the intention of working. It is the only thought that crosses his mind before his eyes close.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Wow, the <em>twist!</em> I ain’t seen anything like it! And that he was actually her sister’s father’s brother-in-law — y’know, Venusian inheritance law is way more complicated than I’da thought…”</p><p class="p1">“It’s actually quite accurate in that regard. I had a job on Venus that required me to be quite well-versed in the technical aspects of executing a will, it took me months to prepare.”</p><p class="p1">“Ransom dear, keep it down. Jet’s asleep.”</p><p class="p1">“What? No he isn’t. Hey, Big Guy. Big Guy?”</p><p class="p1">“Shut it Steel. He’s asleep.”</p><p class="p1">“Huh. I guess he is.”</p><p class="p1">“He ain’t gonna sleep out here, is he? He doesn’t look super comfy.”</p><p class="p1">“We should probably take him to his cabin. Vespa, darling, you take that arm, I’ll take this one — Ransom, Juno, take a leg each — Rita, be a dear and open his door for us. Ready? And <em>lift</em>. Careful, Vespa —”</p><p class="p1">“I know!”</p><p class="p1">“To the left — to the left — <em>no</em>, Juno darling, <em>my</em> left — excellent. Watch his head. There!”</p><p class="p1">“Aww, snug as a bug, ain’t he? Wait, Missus Ilkay, give me a hand, he needs a pillow don’t he? Yeah, just like that.”</p><p class="p1">“Alright, lovefest’s over, everyone out! Jet’s been working himself half to death, scram! Give him some space!”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Day 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: brief mentions of dysphoria! If you want to avoid it, stop reading at “rivulets down his thighs”. Pick back up at the paragraph that starts “Juno steps from the water”. That said, Nureyev isn’t having the best mental-health day in this chapter, so if that’s not something you’re in the mood to read atm, maybe consider eating a piece of chocolate instead &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Nuryev watches the swirl of red dust and gas beyond his window, tracing an idle finger over the sill. The entire atmosphere outside the <em>Carte Blanche</em> glows, vivid red with streaks of black where volcanic ash swirls. Like black ink dropped in red water. Like a darkroom, lit by blood-red lights. Like small black strands twisting through blood.</p><p class="p1">Some of the twirls in the air make shapes. He watches them, picking out outlines out of the shadows. A snake. A snail’s coil. An unfurling oliphant’s trunk. A cat’s tail, complete with venom-stinger.</p><p class="p1">A noise echoes at the base of his head. Gentle and insistent. He frowns.</p><p class="p1">Slowly he realises his foot is asleep. He shifts and the static shoots through his leg, and he grimaces. The sound becomes clearer.</p><p class="p1">A knock. A repetitive, insistant knock.</p><p class="p1">Nureyev collapses back on his mattress, staring at the ceiling. His comms dropped from his hands some time ago; he wonders how long he has been staring out the window. How long his thoughts have drifted. He finds himself listless more often now, aimless and floating.</p><p class="p1">There’s still knocking.</p><p class="p1">“Open door,” Nureyev says, clearly. His voice is dry and cracked. He rubs his eyes, and sits up so quickly he feels dizzy. He reaches for his glass of water to find it is empty. <em>Water</em> is added to the end of his list.</p><p class="p1">The door slides open obediently, revealing Juno. Nureyev instantly sits straighter, feels his gaze drift up and down. Juno’s umber skin shines with the reflected light streaming through Nureyev’s window, bathing him in a cozy glow. He’s wearing that <em>same damn coat</em>, the long one that looks as though it could use a solid clean and a few repairs, but Nureyev can hardly blame him — the ash and gas has meant sunlight is rare, and the longer they’ve been grounded the colder it has gotten. Juno is holding a tray.</p><p class="p1">“Hey,” he says, and he is adorably awkward. Juno offers up the tray like a peace offering. “You missed dinner.”</p><p class="p1">“I —” Nureyev rubs his head, realising his hair has flattened on one side from lying on it. “I lost track of time.”</p><p class="p1">Juno places the tray gingerly atop Nureyev’s mattress. “Vespa made curry. I think next week all we’re going to have is that freeze-dried shit, so I figured you might want some real food.”</p><p class="p1">“Thank you,” Nureyev says, and realises his stomach is growling. He settles the tray on his lap and reaches for the cutlery. He’s starving, and he’s three mouthfuls in before he realises Juno is still standing awkwardly. He swallows, and shuffles backwards about a foot to let Juno perch on the edge of the bed.</p><p class="p1">Juno takes off his coat and folds it messily, placing it on the side table. He’s wearing a long-sleeved black shirt beneath, and Nureyev’s eyes trace the v-neck, the way Juno’s shoulders hunch, the glint of his golden piercings in the red light.</p><p class="p1">“Did you already eat?” Nureyev asks, between bites.</p><p class="p1">“Yeah,” Juno says, leaning back against the wall. “Buddy didn’t want me to bother you, but you hadn’t been out all day. Figured you’d be hungry.” Then he frowns. “Nureyev, are you still wearing your tape?”</p><p class="p1">Nureyev’s hand goes instinctively to his eyes, and he feels the manufactured creases along his eyelids. “Ah. Yes.”</p><p class="p1">“From <em>yesterday</em>?”</p><p class="p1">“I forgot, it appears.”</p><p class="p1">Juno sits in silence until Nureyev finishes the food. Self-consciously, Nureyev places the tray next to his empty glass of water. “Not having a routine is wrecking havoc on my skin.”</p><p class="p1">“Nureyev.” Gingerly, Juno reaches out and touches his leg. “You’re still wearing your shoes.”</p><p class="p1">“As I said, a lack of routine.”</p><p class="p1">Suddenly, Juno stands. Wordlessly he takes the empty glass and tray, and heads to the door. Nureyev’s heart sinks. Juno’s disgusted by him. He knows he is losing a young man’s charms, he knows he has to work three times harder to maintain the appeal he used to have, but he didn’t realise such a momentary lapse would have such a noticeable effect.</p><p class="p1">Something is tossed into his lap and Nureyev flinches. It’s his silk bathrobe.</p><p class="p1">“Be right back,” comes Juno’s voice, from the hallway, and the sound of his footsteps, heavy in his steel-toed boots, fade.</p><p class="p1">Nureyev runs his hand over the silk. He is still wearing the remnants of yesterday’s makeup. He hadn’t realised it was so late. It was simply too exhausting to deal with the night before, so he had put it off. And put it off. And put it off.</p><p class="p1">Juno returns, and Nureyev can’t help his eyes widening. Juno shirtless is always a treat; stocky, the hint of muscles beneath the beginnings of a slight chubbiness that isn’t the result of negligence but simply healthy, the soft curve of his biceps beside the sharp angles of his pectorals. Nureyev feels his cheeks flush as his eyes drop down to the towel slung around Juno’s waist, and hopes the red light is enough to hide it.</p><p class="p1">“Aren’t you coming?”</p><p class="p1">“What?”</p><p class="p1">“Bathroom.” Juno gestures at the robe in Nureyev’s lap.</p><p class="p1">Stiffly, awkwardly, Nureyev unfolds himself from his place on the mattress, and Juno averts his eyes. Nureyev isn’t sure why, but it makes it easier for him to slip off his shoes, unbutton his shirt, and slip off his pants. He realises they have left angry red creases in his thighs, and sighs, tying the robe neatly.</p><p class="p1">Juno hands Nureyev his towel, and he follows Juno obediently to the bathrooms.</p><p class="p1">There are two showers. Juno is heading to the one on the left, when Nureyev can’t hold himself back. “Juno?” His voice is soft, still hoarse from lack of water.</p><p class="p1">He turns back, and Nureyev has his eyes firmly fixed downwards, unable to pull them up. There is a curl of dark hair above Juno’s towel.</p><p class="p1">“Yeah,” says Juno, and it isn’t a question. He opens the door to the right-hand shower, and Nureyev follows.</p><p class="p1">Juno turns away from Nureyev and lets the towel fall, leaning over to adjust the water. “Maybe take your tape off,” he says, without turning around.</p><p class="p1">Nureyev does, but doesn’t move closer. He watches Juno step into the spray, watches the way the water accumulates in Juno’s curls, watches it run down his shoulders and over his hips, rivulets down his thighs.</p><p class="p1">Juno opens one eye beneath the cascade. “Do you want the lights off?”</p><p class="p1">Nureyev’s throat closes off. <em>Yes,</em> says one part of him, the part that occasionally, infrequently, wants to claw his skin off. <em>No</em>, says the part that loves watching the water on Juno.</p><p class="p1">“Do you want me to just wash your hair?” Juno offers.</p><p class="p1"><em>Yes. No</em>.</p><p class="p1">“Maybe no lights,” says Nureyev finally.</p><p class="p1">Juno steps from the water, snatching up his towel, and switches off the light. The only light in the shower is that which creeps in over the top of the wall, from the other shower. Nureyev stands still, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom, and feels Juno’s hand, warm and slightly wet, in his. He pauses, long enough to shed the robe, and then lets Juno lead him to the water spray.</p><p class="p1">It’s warm on his skin. It soothes the itching creases his pants left on his skin.</p><p class="p1">“Do you want me to wash your hair?” Juno offers again, louder this time to be heard over the water.</p><p class="p1">Nureyev turns around, his back to Juno, and nods.</p><p class="p1">Juno moves around in the water spray behind him, and then there’s the feeling of his fingers, strong, sure, callused, rough, gentle, in Nureyev’s hair.</p><p class="p1">He appreciates that Juno does not treat him like glass. He appreciates that Juno is calm, methodical, but not overly careful. He appreciates that he is matter-of-fact, accepting, but not too familiar. Nureyev’s shoulders relax when he realises that Juno has no intention of getting closer to him. He knows he couldn’t stand the physical contact right now. Just this, Juno’s hands rhythmically massaging shampoo into his scalp, is enough. No more, no less.</p><p class="p1">Juno steps back and Nureyev tilts his head back to wash out the shampoo. Conditioner is applied, equally methodically, equally gently, equally silently.</p><p class="p1">When Juno is finished, Nureyev feels as though he can breathe. He steps away in the dim light, allowing Juno a chance to do his own hair, and scrubs with a loofah until his skin tingles. When he steps beneath the water, it’s a shock to the system.</p><p class="p1">Finally they are done. Nureyev feels clean, and realises at that moment that he had felt dirty before without knowing. They dry themselves in the dark, keeping a comfortable distance, and Nureyev wraps himself in his robe again. When Juno opens the door, he blinks in the light.</p><p class="p1">They brush their teeth in silence. Nureyev cleanses his face thoroughly, applies his night cream. He watches as Juno flosses.</p><p class="p1">Nureyev trims his nails, and examines them critically. They need a coat of polish, he decides. He picks a shade of blue from his drawer, and holds it up to the light.</p><p class="p1">“Do you want a hand with that?”</p><p class="p1">“Why, detective,” Nureyev says, feeling — <em>feeling,</em> for the first time today — a smile bloom across his face, “I’d be honoured.”</p><p class="p1">Juno grumbles something under his breath, but Nureyev can see a shine in his eye, and he follows back to Nureyev’s room.</p><p class="p1">Nureyev turns on a light, and settles on the bed. Juno arranges his towel self-conciously, and sits, legs curled to one side, across from him, taking Nureyev’s hand and placing it atop the towel, on his knee. He has to unscrew the nail polish with his teeth, and then, with meticulous care, begins applying polish in smooth, even strokes.</p><p class="p1">It’s hypnotising to watch.</p><p class="p1">“Rita taught me how to do this,” mutters Juno eventually, his eyes not leaving Nureyev’s hands. “She wanted us to have matching nails.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh? And did you?”</p><p class="p1">“I don’t like drawing attention to my hands. Brightly coloured nails make it harder for me to swipe files off the HCPD’s desks.”</p><p class="p1">“What a shame.”</p><p class="p1">“Our toes did match, though.” Nureyev can see a smile, even though Juno’s head is ducked in concentration. He only grins in response, unsure what else to do.</p><p class="p1">The silence lingers for a few moments longer.</p><p class="p1">“Other hand. So, Nureyev, got any plans for tomorrow?”</p><p class="p1">“Ah. Not at the moment.”</p><p class="p1">“You should join me and Jet and Rita. We’re re-arranging Rita and Jet’s cabins.”</p><p class="p1">“What’s there to re-arrange?”</p><p class="p1">“Rita will find something. She has some decorations planned too. Jet is also going to be teaching her how to make rosemary popcorn.”</p><p class="p1">“Without a microwave?”</p><p class="p1">“Without a microwave,” Juno affirms, and glances upwards to smile.</p><p class="p1">Nureyev feels as though the wind has been knocked out of him. Juno Steel couldn’t have stolen his breath more effectively if he’d sucker-punched him.</p><p class="p1">Juno is oblivious. He bends his head again, and continues to paint Nureyev’s nails. The silence sits longer.</p><p class="p1">Finally, Juno pulls back. “There. Does your comms have a UV light?”</p><p class="p1">Nureyev nods, and Juno grabs it, and holds the light over Nureyev’s hands. Nureyev counts the thirty seconds it takes for the polish to cure by counting each and every one of Juno’s breaths.</p><p class="p1">“It’s getting pretty late,” says Juno, standing and placing Nureyev’s comms gently on the side table. He picks up his jacket, draping it over his arm. It’s a funny look, the jacket and the towel.</p><p class="p1">“Juno,” says Nureyev. “Perhaps — a little company wouldn’t go unappreciated this evening.”</p><p class="p1">Juno freezes, and Nureyev can see his eye flickering. “Alright,” he says finally. “I’m gonna get some clothes tho, this is still wet.” He points to his towel, and leaves quietly.</p><p class="p1">Nureyev takes the opportunity to change out of his robe as well, into a nightgown. He slides beneath the covers, and picks up his comms, returning to the book he had been reading this morning, when getting out of bed seemed like too big a chore.</p><p class="p1">A few minutes later, Juno returns. Nureyev offers him the blankets, and Juno slides in beside him. Nureyev looks at the screen of his comms, sees the reflection of the bleached <em>Hyperion City Police Academy</em> t-shirt overlaying the words. Juno has his comms too, and is scrolling through something. They sit in silence for a while, until Nureyev’s eyes start to droop. He realises he’s collapsed on Juno’s shoulder when Juno gently detaches him and slides him onto his pillow.</p><p class="p1">Juno turns out the light with a voice command, and pulls the blankets up to his chin. Gingerly, Nureyev feels Juno’s arm around him, the warm press of Juno’s chest against Nureyev’s back.</p><p class="p1">He sleeps, and he can still smell Juno’s shampoo in his dreams.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I would like to say that I do not have monolids, and I have no experience wearing double-eyelid tape. As such, any concrit on the subject is appreciated -- I tried to do my research, but I don't want to misrepresent the subject. Sophie Takagi Kaner mentioned once that if anyone was to play Nureyev it would be Eugene Lee Yang (which, just, YES) and when I lived in Korea a lot of my friends wore double-eyelid tape. That's just some context as to why it's in here.<br/>BUT it's been years since I lived in Korea, and if there is anyone who is more knowledgeable and would like to provide some concrit on the subject, that is appreciated.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Find me at mistah-aluminium on Tumblr!!<br/>Thanks for reading my isolation drabbles. I need this to cope atm</p></blockquote></div></div>
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